


five times Madara didn't send nudes (and the one time he did)

by selwyn



Category: Naruto
Genre: M/M, Modern AU, sending nudes isn't as easy as u think
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-09
Updated: 2019-11-09
Packaged: 2021-01-25 19:56:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21361822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/selwyn/pseuds/selwyn
Summary: People really make sending nudes sound a lot easier than it actually is.
Relationships: Senju Hashirama/Uchiha Madara
Comments: 7
Kudos: 177





	five times Madara didn't send nudes (and the one time he did)

1\. _The full body_

Madara could say with confidence that he’d never sent nudes in his life. He had boyfriends, sure, who asked for them but he always refused. It was one of his rules – no nudes, no booty calls, and no free head. Get on board or get out of the way.

Then he met Hashirama. Hashirama who texted regularly, called every other day, and liked to schedule at least one date a week. He did all the things Madara thought he didn’t like, except now Madara anticipated every text, had a different ringtone for him so he didn’t miss his calls, and he went home with him every date night. Hashirama made him want to break all his rules.

The topic of nudes came up randomly. Madara said something offhand, something like “send me one” or whatever, and then suddenly found himself embroiled in the world’s dumbest competition about whether or not Hashirama could snap a picture at work. It was complete stupidity, start to finish, and Madara nearly threw his phone out the window when his phone buzzed and he saw _that._

_Shit, shit, shit, _his hands went clammy as he stared at it wide-eyed. Hashirama had really set out to prove him wrong. He’d included his face (smiling!), his chest (bare!), and his…

Madara dropped his phone and the battery immediately popped out when it hit the floor. He spent the next ten minutes cursing and trying to fish it out from underneath his desk, informally losing their competition in the process.

* * *

2\. _The one in the car_

The second time, he’s stuck in downtown traffic and sexting. Well, technically not. Does it count as sexting if it was unintentional? Madara couldn’t say, he was currently stuck in a hot debate between himself and his common sense on the topic: _how badly do I want to go home right now and will I break the law to do it?_

Pros: Hashirama was home. Hashirama was home and he was horny. Madara was supposed to have been there half an hour ago.

Cons: Technically, veering into the opposite lane and driving down it wildly with minimal respect for human life was illegal. Technically.

_Ding. _He sneaked a peek down at his phone and groaned. That was a multimedia text. That had to be a picture. Had to, had to, and goddammit, who were these people on the road anyway, he wanted to get home already…!

Madara’s hands on the driving wheel tightened as he tried to think of unappealing things. Tobirama. Women. His father. Nothing could really put a dent in the Hashirama-specific insanity that always struck him at the _worst_ times. As another hour eked by, Madara found himself engaged in a losing argument about just abandoning his car on the road and walking home. His only standing argument against that was that he couldn’t just saunter down the main road with a hard-on.

The only thing that kept him from further embarrassing himself was remembering that his windows weren’t tinted enough to hide anything. And even then, just barely.

* * *

3\. _The one after a shower_

The third time he thinks about it, he’s stepping out of the shower when his phone buzzed. _Hashirama._

_u busy? - h_

_just showered - m_

Madara began to dry his hair, squinting at his smeared reflection in the foggy mirror, when his phone buzzed again.

_show me - h_

Madara’s heart nearly gave out on the spot. His hands began to sweat. He felt flushed. He never had a boyfriend who made him so giddy with just a few words and he hated it as much as he loved it. Madara glanced down at himself, still damp from the shower, and before he could think better of it, snapped a few pictures.

He checked them all. The lighting was off in one, the angle was weird for another, he didn’t like the look of the third, and the last one had his feet in the shot, gross – and he quickly deleted all of them.

He couldn’t do this. He would die of mortification if he did.

_come over then - m_

At least text didn’t convey tone. Madara congratulated himself on his fairly snappy rejoinder, even though he didn’t feel particularly snappy. He avoided eye contact with the mirror after that.

* * *

4\. _The one after the gym_

Endorphins made you loopy. That was the only reason that Madara had that could explain why he was staring at the gigantic wall-to-wall mirror of his regular gym, thinking about trying to snap a picture. People did that, right? He saw it everywhere on Grindr, some jackass with the hem of his tank-top in his mouth while he clutched a semi in his damp sweats.

It was a terrible idea. Horrible. But, come on, the lighting here was pretty good and he was the only one here and he was still hung up on the last time he absolutely failed, maybe he could just…?

The chatter of other people’s voices in the nearby locker rooms snapped him out of his reverie and Madara scurried to grab his gym bag before they came in. He hadn’t even _done_ anything except squint at the mirror for a minute, but he still felt like he should respect himself a little less after that.

* * *

5\. The reciprocation

Madara never meant for it to go this far. Really. Sure, he liked looking at Hashirama – who wouldn’t? The man was built like an Olympian. And yes, maybe he hinted that he wanted pictures occasionally and things went places that just…

Okay, fine. On his phone, in a password locked folder, was every picture Hashirama ever sent him. Everything, from the funny trees to the selfies to the… the nudes. That wasn’t weird, people had pictures of their partners, right? He knew that Izuna definitely had a repository of dirty pics somewhere. So this wasn’t weird.

It was just that he felt a little bad for not sending one back. Hashirama never guilted him, he wasn’t the type, but Madara wanted to. He was doing really badly at it but it was the thought that counted right?

So he tried to do it. Better lighting, middle of the day, he even cleaned his bedroom so the background didn’t look disgusting. Then he spent an hour trying to find a position that didn’t look like he was trying too hard, trying to not wince in mental disgust at what he was doing, and by the end, he had nearly forty pictures. He spent the next hour deleting each one for minute flaws.

All in all, two hours of his life wasted for no gain. Excellent. Madara buried his head in his pillow, mortified.

* * *

**_1\. _The drunk one**

Madara knew he was a light-weight. He didn’t especially care for this fact since he rarely drank anyway but when it happened, it happened.

The next day, Madara groggily awoke to Hashirama’s ringtone. He grabbed his phone. “Mhh?”

_“Hey. I’m going to – wait. Madara?”_

“Mhmm.”

_“It’s 2pm. Are you still sleeping?”_

“S’Sunday, m’allowed.”

_“…are you drunk?”_ Hashirama sounded delighted.

“Was drunk,” Madara corrected. His sleepy brain chose this moment to tell him _hey, what if he doesn’t believe you? Send him a picture to prove it._

So he did. Madara rolled onto his back, squinting against the sun, and happily snapped a picture. It was well on its way to Hashirama when his thoughts oozed into further coherence.

_1\. It’s 2pm_

_2\. I’m naked_

_3\. I’m naked?_

_4\. I am._

_5\. Wait, then that picture…?_

_“Oh, uh, wow.”_ Hashirama sounded stunned. Madara went through the five stages of grief in five seconds. _“Do you… do you want me to come over?”_

_What did I send?_ his brain wailed as Madara nodded, then remembered he was on the phone. “Uh. Yeah.”

_“Great. Coming. Don’t move.”_

He hung up. Madara stared at his phone, then went to his text messages to find what he sent. He managed to look at it for only a split-second before throwing his phone back down, red in the face. That was… that was…!

He tentatively glanced at it again, hoping that a second look would save it, but no. It was him, naked, three multi-colored vibrators around his head like some filthy halo, and a message in Sharpie on his chest:

COME OVER & FUCK ME

Madara sank back down on his bed and tried his best to dissolve into nonexistence.


End file.
